


to want thy light

by Softlight



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softlight/pseuds/Softlight
Summary: “But, soft!  What light through yonder window breaks?”Blake jerks, nearly spilling her drink as she looks up from her Scroll.  There’s a woman in the garden below, and she’s looking up at her.  She also has a Solo cup in hand, and if it wasn’t clear from the slight slurring of her words, the stumbling through the plants is evidence enough that she’s drunk off her ass.“Are you talking to me?”
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 25
Kudos: 168





	to want thy light

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "I'm on a balcony at some dude's party and you just started loudly quoting some Romeo and Juliet at me from below" by afterglow-prompts! This was really fun and relaxing to write, and it's just a bit of fun. Hope you enjoy!

The party is blasting music behind her, and Blake would be lying if she said she wasn’t regretting letting Sun drag her here. It’s loud, it’s all too loud, but it’s quiet out here, and the music is fainter on the balcony. She takes a long drink of her red Solo cup, some concoction Sun had whipped up once he had gotten into the kitchen, and it goes down smooth. Blake sighs and crosses her arms over the balcony’s edge. The moon is full tonight, and she can clearly see the garden below. The florals are pale in the moonlight, but the air is spiced with their light and lovely fragrance. 

Blake taps her fingers against the cool stone and debates leaving, but Sun had wanted her to meet his boyfriend, who still hadn’t shown up even though the party had been raging for what felt like hours now. At least if she’s on the balcony, the music can’t wreck her ears like it usually does. She reaches for her Scroll and sends a quick message to Sun letting him know to text her when Neptune gets here. There. She can stay out here and avoid the noise and the crowds and the questions. 

“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”

Blake jerks, nearly spilling her drink as she looks up from her Scroll. There’s a woman in the garden below, and she’s looking up at her. She also has a Solo cup in hand, and if it wasn’t clear from the slight slurring of her words, the stumbling through the plants is evidence enough that she’s drunk off her ass. 

“Are you talking to me?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. In the back of her mind, she knows that Sun and Neptune met working crew on a play, but- oh, fuck. Sun took her to a cast party, didn’t he? Brothers, he was _dead_ when she got her hands on him. Drunk theatre kids were the worst. And she would know, given that she used to be one of them.

“She speaks!” the blonde says again, and she’s smiling bright. “O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being- oh fuck, uh, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven.” The woman grins, and she raises her cup to Blake. 

Blake flushes, but she rolls her eyes. “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” she snipes, crossing her arms. The blonde’s eyes light up, and she can see the bright lilac color even in the pale moonlight, and she’s grinning so widely. Blake swallows hard and says, softer this time, “Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

“She knows her Shakespeare!” the blonde giggles, and she spins around before coming closer to the balcony. “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“You’re not getting a soliloquy out of me,” Blake said. She takes another drink and wets her lips. 

“Technically, your next lines aren’t a soliloquy,” the woman says. “You’re not on stage alone.”

“Fine, then, a monologue.” Blake inclines her head. “Either way, I’m not doing it.”

“Because you don’t know the lines or because you don’t want to?” 

“Because I don’t even like _Romeo and Juliet_!”

The woman puts a hand over her heart and gasps dramatically. “Wicked woman!” she says, but there’s delight shining in her eyes. “I will admit, there are better plays, but how can you not like _Romeo and Juliet_?” The woman straightens up and puffs out her chest. “Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where-”

“I know the prologue, thank you very much,” Blake says. Still, there’s a smile twitching at her lips that she can’t control. 

The blonde cocks a hip. “It’s a tragic story about two hopeless kids who find hope in each other, and their love fixes the world. How can you not like it?”

“Exactly, it’s a tragedy,” Blake says. “I think there’s enough of that in this world.” Her nose wrinkles. “And it’s not very realistic, either.”

“But that’s not the point!” the woman says, her drink sloshing over the sides as she moves. “It’s hopeful and tragic because their love did succeed! And it’s a beautiful story.”

“I’m not saying it’s not a beautiful story, I’m saying that this is a weaker play compared to his other works.” Blake leans over the balcony. “I think it lacks the emotional depth of, for example, _Hamlet_ , or even _Twelfth Night_.”

“Oh, you’re talking about _Twelfth Night_ and saying _Romeo and Juliet_ isn’t realistic?” The woman shakes her head. 

“ _Twelfth Night_ has a far more compelling romantic love story,” Blake says. 

“Oh Brothers,” the woman says, slapping her hand over her eyes. “Let me hear it.”

“Viola and Olivia were obviously meant for each other,” Blake says.

The woman tentatively peaks through her fingers. “Okay, you can’t just leave it there.”

Blake shrugs, biting back a smile. “Their shared grief and pining would make them well suited to one another. Orsino loves Olivia simply because she is beautiful, but Olivia loves Viola because of an emotional connection, and if Shakespeare was allowed be as queer as he wanted to be, you know that Olivia and Viola would have ended up together instead. It makes the most sense.”

“Alright, but that’s not completely text-based, and even if it was, it would be difficult to argue that their love is greater than Romeo’s and Juliet’s when the two of them literally die because they cannot imagine a world without the other.”

“It’s text-based enough, and exactly. Olivia and Viola have experienced grief, and they know that there is a world outside of love and romance to live for,” Blake says.

“But that’s the great tragedy of it all!” the woman exclaims. “They’re just kids. Kids who fell in love and damned the consequences and were too young to understand and old enough to know about injustice and still too young to do anything about it but die. And isn’t that the great tragedy?” The woman’s eyes are shining, as if she was moved to tears. “Love moved mountains, but they didn’t get to see the fruits of their efforts. So we need to speak their words and let their love live on.”

Blake tilts her head back and forth. “Alright,” she cedes. “Alright. I’ll bite.” She takes a deep breath and leans out over the balcony. “But swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.” She smirks slightly, but the words are soft and pleading in her mind. She’s no actress, but she knows how to say the long ago memorized words.

“You skipped ahead, but fine.” The blonde straightens up with a smile before her face shifts and opens wide and earnest. “What shall I swear by?” 

“Do not swear at all, or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I’ll believe thee.” 

The blonde blinks up at her, and that easy smile cracks. “Fuck. I’ve forgotten the lines.”

Blake snorts. “You did a great job,” she says, and she means it. The blonde, even in the moonlight, glows. She easily draws the eye, not that Blake particularly minds. Her blonde hair is sparkling silver, and even if Blake couldn’t see in the dark, she could pick out those lilac eyes from a thousand miles away. She leans further over the balcony. “I take it you’re playing Juliet?”

“Mercutio, actually,” the blonde groans. 

“That makes sense.”

The blonde snorts. “Why do you say that? Is it my flaring gayness or the fact that I’m dramatically reciting Shakespeare in a garden at night?”

“Both, actually.” Blake bites back a smile. “And what does it say about me that I haven’t read the play in years and still can recite the lines back to you?”

“That you’re smart,” the blonde says. She’s swaying slightly to a rhythm of some song that Blake can’t hear. “That you’re a romantic, because only someone as stupidly romantic as myself would ever do this.”

“Maybe I just decided to take pity on a pretty drunk girl,” Blake says lightly.

“Maybe.” The blonde smirks at her, and Blake knows she doesn’t buy it for one second. “I’ve seen you before. You pick Sun up after practice, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She would be lying if she said she’s seen the blonde before, because she’s certain she would remember that head of hair at least, so she doesn’t. 

“Why didn’t you try out? You’re really good.”

“It’s not my thing.”

“But it used to be?” Blake falls silent, and her ears sag against her scalp. The woman looks up at her and scrunches her nose. “Touchy subject?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“That’s okay.” The blonde stretches her shoulders out. “But we’re actually doing _Twelfth Night_ next, so, I mean, if there’s ever been an excuse to come back to it, there you go.” The woman’s smile is gentle and encouraging and brighter than moonlight. “I think you’d be a fun cast member.”

Blake tilts her head. “What’s your name?” she asks finally. 

The woman bows at the waist, and even though she’s swaying, it’s still a ridiculous and dramatic and elegant motion. “Yang Xiao Long, at your service, m’lady.” She looks up at Blake, still bowed, and extends her hand. “May I have yours?”

“Blake.”

Yang straightens up and smiles wistfully. “ _Blake_. A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

Blake’s cheeks color even as she spits, “You’re drunk.”

“I can still appreciate beauty,” Yang argues. “And I would like to appreciate you.”

She opens her mouth to speak, and her Scroll starts to buzz. She looks down to see Sun has called her. Six times. “I have to go,” she says, and there is a twinge of remorse in her chest.

“A thousand times the worse, to want thy light,” Yang says. She takes a drink out of her Solo cup. “Sun has my number. Call me sometime, would you?”

Blake bites her lip. Instead of answering, she says, “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow.” She doesn’t wait for Yang’s response before ducking back inside.

Her heart is racing, and she can hear Yang’s laughter, but it’s not cruel. It’s joyous and thrilled, and as she closes the door, she hears Yang yell, “Call me!”

She will. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send my prompts on tumblr at softlighter! <3


End file.
